


Literally, Space Titanic

by DarthVaderC11



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: M/M, hamletmachine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthVaderC11/pseuds/DarthVaderC11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Titanic. But in space. SPACE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eliphant (elisetales)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eliphant+%28elisetales%29), [everyone else](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everyone+else), [<3 i lub you](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%26lt%3B3+i+lub+you).



> This is an UA fic: A fic that has Universe Alterations. This is also part one. (A very short preview of the story because I already wrote the rest of it...well most of it....and I just kinda wanted to make a post on my birthday :D)
> 
> Dear friends; the title says it all. This story is literally going to be Titanic except...in space. And with Cain and Abel. And drastically different plot devices, different people...no ocean...no ship called Titanic...okay. It's not EXACTLY Titanic in space. But it's pretty darn close. Don't feel obligated to read this. It's just a little test thing I've been wanting to do for ages. Eli...elisetales, eliphant, elivator....this is for you because a long time ago, I told you I would write this. Everyone, PLEASE....do not take this fic seriously! It's kinda wiggly.
> 
> \- hamletmachine's characters :D - disclaimer.

Fate came in the form of a sweat-stained piece of paper that day, the stub of a ticket, turned over tempestuously in trembling hands. Its yellowed sides curled and frayed between clammy fingers as the young man holding it contemplated the convoluted concept of a new life - the life the small paper would lead him to. From this day on he was a soldier. A man with a new name, meant to defend the vast territory of the universe, including his home on Earth. As bright brown eyes scanned that ticket again, the promise of adventure sending sparks to his dilating pupils and sweat to pale palms, he wondered why his first order of business was going back home. 

Only seconds after his assignment to the fighter called Cain, both commanders gave Ethan - now Abel - a ticket for a luxury cruise back to earth. Panic pulled at his heart at first, his mind leaping to the conclusion that he wasn't good enough and was being discharged immediately. Cook only smirked at the young soldier's alarm, throwing a backwards glance at a grinning Bering while leading Abel into the hallway - away from Cain, away from the military, away from his destiny, he was sure. Abel's chin dropped to his chest then as he mentally prepared himself to be reprimanded. "Sir, I'm sorry -"

Amusement played across the older man's face before he interjected. "No need for formalities, Abel. Please, call me commander Cook."

It took every ounce of will power on Abel's part to withhold a correction. 'Commander' was a formality after all, but the reminder of his eminent discharge burned furiously in his hand, and so he refrained. 

"You're not in trouble soldier, not yet at least...so relax."

Thin shoulders slumped at the news, only to tense up again out of respect for - and fear of - his superior. 

"We're sending all the new navigators on a luxury cruise to Earth. It was an attempt from the higher-ups at familiarizing the fighter and navigator teams with each other, but it was recently brought to my attention that..." The officer's baritone dropped a few decibels as he leaned closer to the soldier's pink-tipped ears. "Almost all of the fighters are colony scum and can't afford such pleasantries." 

The unsteady thrush of blood through ripe veins was melodic in the commander's ears as Abel flushed with shame. "If I may, commander...if you must speak of my teammate like that I don't believe we are any better than they are." 

Luminescent irises gleamed with intrigue and simultaneous impudence at the younger's sudden boldness, and yet not a muscle moved in Cook's stoic face to indicate it. "Right..." he mumbled with a finger to his lips. "Either way, we'll be seeing you after the cruise. Please make haste while packing, the ship is scheduled to leave promptly at 1200 hours. You are dismissed."

"Thank you commander," Ethan nodded, then retreated to his room.

Thoroughly amused, Cook watched until he was sure Abel had gone, then returned to the office and took his place at commander Bering's side. "I was right."

A hot rush of air met the blond's crossed arms as the other officer scoffed, shaking his head and standing to meet his former navigator. "And what a show you had to put on to prove it. I especially enjoyed the bit about 'colony scum'...sure got the boy going."

"When provoked," the silver-haired male pronounced as he evaded Bering's shrinking proximity. "He reacts. And a reaction is what we've been waiting for. Is it not?" 

"Of course." Beneath a brambly beard chapped lips slipped into a playful pout. He didn't take too well to being rejected. "But you are right. The boy will reach his full potential." 

x x x

Thin fingers fumbled over miscellaneous articles of clothing, each precisely pressed shirt and pant set becoming irreparably wrinkled as Abel swiftly stuffed them into a small suitcase. 'Almost done,' he urged himself, nerves getting the best of him for the second time today. 'Just a few more things...I'll definitely be done before - ' Swish, the door panel slid open to reveal the one person he really didn't want to see. Abel's chest deflated in defeat as he watched his fighter lounge against the frame, a suggestive smirk plastered on his face. Narrow eyes teeming with both viciousness and vitality surveyed the mess of clothes about the room, and when they focused on the nearly full suitcase in the middle, a vile and sickened scowl replaced Cain's smirk. "What, you decided you're too much of a princess to team up with someone like me?"

Abel's spine cracked when he straightened instantly, his already large eyes growing wider in defense as they followed Cain across the room. "Oh - no...not at all, I actually..." the words _'like you'_ caught in his throat before he opted to explain the luggage instead. "The commanders are sending all the navigators on a cruise. I was just packing for that, I'll be back after."

"Tsk." The bed frame creaked as Cain pressed his back into it and scrutinized Abel's packing technique. "The fuck does that leave us with? Why do you clones get to go somewhere nice while we fighters rot on the station?" Uncrossing his arms he lit a cigarette, focusing on his lighter when Abel looked up at him with some bullshit sympathy-frown.

"Well I..." the blond couldn't bring himself to look the colonist in the eye as Cook's words stung his quickly constricting throat. "I'm sure they have something nice planned for the fighters as well." A modest smile appeared in hopes that it was true, and not just something he'd invented himself to appease Cain. 

"Huh. Whatever." The fighter thought he could do without the company for a couple days. But, something told him otherwise as he watched his roommate's ass wiggle while he crushed the contents of the suitcase. Cain's jaw dropped. The cigarette fell from his mouth and singed the carpet before he could inconspicuously stomp it out; fortunately for him, Abel didn't look up from his luggage. 

"Well," plush lips pushed tightly together and rosy cheeks puffed as the navigator exhaled, preparing to leave. Both hands groped around awkwardly on the door's keypad. "It was nice meeting you. I'm looking forward to getting to know you a little more when I get back so...bye." 

Another nearly silent swish of the door and he was gone, leaving Cain to concentrate on his words a bit too hard. 'Getting to know me a little more, huh...' to Cain and his licentious mind, that phrase could only mean one thing. And the fighter would be damned if he had to wait until that fine piece of ass got back to get some. 

So, he did the only honorable thing he could think of and found a way to cheat himself onto that ship. 

x x x

Tension as thick as the black smog that clogged the supply closet hung about, reducing each man inside to an anxiety-ridden silence. At the first sign of beaded moisture sliding down the tallest fighter's forehead, Cain developed a devilish grin as the tall man's quivering hand began to descend. Before he even saw what the other had to offer, his heart began to beat wildly - for between his fingers, he knew, was his grand destiny. 

Beside Cain, Deimos craned his scarred and milky neck to see which cards Praxis slapped onto the table. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, Deimos urged Cain to play his hand. Praxis' tickets would be in their hands soon enough. 

_Slam!_

"Take that, asshole! Full house!" 

"Fuck! You guys cheated!" Cards fluttered everywhere after the eye-patched soldier flipped the small table over. Yet, Cain and his friend paid him no heed, celebrating through obvious anger and resentment.

"We won, we won, you suck!" Reliant's fighter spat at Praxis, pinching Deimos' opalescent cheeks before lifting him over his shoulder and giving his butt a few congratulatory spanks. "Pack up Myshonok! We're going to Earth!" 

x x x

For someone like Cain, someone who grew up too fast, someone who wouldn't be where he was now without a fight, someone who knew firsthand what it meant to be trash, the so-called 'luxury cruise ship' was trash. "Shoulda known Cyclops would give us third class tickets." The younger man kicked at the unstable and rusting metal of the bunk even though Deimos sat idly on the top bed, swinging his little legs back and forth. Rumpled blankets began to rustle, and Deimos lifted them to catch a tiny mouse between his palms. He smiled warmly at it, which made Cain roll his eyes. 

"You'll be fine here. A mouse among mice. Heh...but if things go the way I planned, I won't be sleeping with rats tonight." 

His friend ignored him in favor of the rodent in his hands, saying nothing as Cain "tsk"ed and went off to find Abel. Once he was alone, though, Deimos lay on the grimy bed, enduring the excruciating pain of his unrequited feelings with nothing but a baby mouse to help him through it. 

x x x 

The captain was gorgeous. A celestial being sent down from heaven to dine with savages and lead them to their insignificant destiny. He was a natural leader, a charismatic conversator, and above all, he possessed the knowledge and cunning of ten-thousand army generals. All of this while wearing the visage of the most beautiful human being Abel had ever laid eyes on. And, in the exquisite environment of crystal chandeliers and silk tablecloths, the captain shone brilliantly, a diamond among duller treasures. One of the other navigators told a tasteful joke and the captain blushed beautifully, using two manicured fingers to cover his shapely lips. 

"Marvelous...it's all a matter of one's perception and life experiences..."

That voice. Like the soft-beating wings of a dove. Boiling blood battered the insides of Abel's ears, blocking out the rest of the captain's saccharine speech. His virgin body began to betray him, reacting in unsavory ways to the captain-overload his senses were receiving. So Abel just sat, flushed faced pressed flat against his palm, and tried to erase the sound of the captain incessantly calling his name from his mind. Except, he wasn't just imagining it.

"...Abel...?" Bleached locks fell over one side of the captain's delicate shoulders as he tilted his head and gave the red-faced shoulder a shy smile. 

"Oh! Captain Keeler, I'm sorry, I must have spaced out." Flashing an apologetic frown at the older male, Abel slid a hand beneath his napkin to smoothen out his pants. 

"Please, no formalities. This is a cruise, Abel, call me Keeler." 

This time, the soldier's stiff shoulders remained relaxed. "Ah - Keeler...what was it you were saying?"

Low chuckles echoed about the table at the young man's oblivious nature. "The fighters. Are you getting along alright with yours?" 

Suddenly Keeler's ethereal eyes didn't seem as great a place to get lost in as before. 'Cain...' Abel thought hard about his fighter, mind reeling to pull something significant and somewhat definitive about their relationship after their first meeting. Nothing but, 'he's hot and I secretly want him to ravage me' came to mind, and Abel most definitely didn't want to divulge that information at the captain's table. "I haven't really gotten the chance to know him yet."

"Oh, that's a shame." Two hands clasped loosely under Keeler's chin as he spoke. "But remember, when I'm not busy captaining cruise ships I'm Sleipnir's lieutenant. I'm sure you'll be working on the Sleipnir at one point or another, so if you are ever in need of any assistance - transfers and the like - don't hesitate to ask." Keeler winked, and Abel would've excused himself to the restroom, had it been a few moments earlier. Now, it was the mere meaning of Keeler's words that crowded his mind. What if Cain turned out to be a monster? And what would become of him if his fighter were the exact opposite? The blond shook away thoughts of coming to truly like Cain, only to lose him to the Colterons. Somehow, even after those thoughts were blown away, his mood was still dismal. 

Something strong weighed in his gut, prodding at the borders of his brain like an undefeatable foe. Not even the captain's inhuman appeal could assuage his newfound restlessness. "Excuse me, gentlemen...I need some fresh air. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Cap - I mean...Keeler." 

It wasn't until Abel was out on the window-deck beneath the stars that he realized the weight was that of his own mortality. 

 

x x x

NEXT UP: A VERY EXCITING ACCOUNT OF HOW ABEL GETS RESCUED!!!!! Please read it I tried to make it fun ;_;


	2. Eh. Some more of it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really short but it's all I have :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starfighter belongs to hamlet :3

It would be entirely incorrect to say that Abel had never conjured a bad idea before. In fact, he'd had plenty. But at this time, the young navigator could think of nothing worse than what he had just done. Yes, the stars were pretty. Yes, it would have been truly wonderful if he could've just seen them a little bit closer. No, now that he thought of it - in the midst of his screaming and bargaining with a higher power to lead a wholesome life if only he'd be spared - it was not a good idea to lean so far over the star deck that he'd have to cling to the railing in order to survive.

Luck would have it, be that luck good or just plain awful, that at the exact moment Abel's sweaty grip on the bars weakened, a strong fist clutched his trembling wrist. The navigator's heart burst with relief and elation, making his eyes blur with tears of joy. Thus, when his savior neither moved nor mumbled, Abel was struck with the mystery of which unnaturally strong navigator on board saved him from an untimely demise.

"You can put your feet down, you know." It was a harsh voice on its own, even as the person spoke calmly. Too harsh to belong to a navigator.

"...Huh?" Who could be so calm, Abel thought, when Abel was about to fall down an infinite void to his death, and the only thing preventing such a calamity was the stranger's own hands?

"I said. Put your feet down. There's a glass floor."

Hesitantly, Abel did as he was told, lowering his quaking legs until - oh! The person was right. A glass floor. One look down, to see if he was indeed standing, and one wholeheartedly embarrassed look up, to stare his 'savior' in the face. Somehow, by an odd twist of fate, that person turned out to be his fighter. "Cain!" Once more, the young man colored. "But...how did you get here?"

Still stony-faced and a bit bored, Cain met his teammate's shy gaze through the metal bars of the railing. Neither said a word, nether even moved. With his wrists still locked in Cain's, Abel came to a horrid realization. "Oh my gosh!" The blond gasped, his eyes shooting up to the colonist's glare. "I'm already dead, aren't I?"

His gracious savior answered that question by pulling Abel up and over the railing to safety. For a while, the daring rescue seemed to be a success. Here was Cain with Abel in his arms, forever grateful - albeit, a tad bit ashamed - to the fighter for pulling him to visible ground. He was definitely 'getting to know his navi a little more' tonight. But, it turned out that fortune was not a friend of Cain's that night.

Perhaps it was the industrial air recycler turning on that made Abel overshoot his landing and crash with a cacophonous bang - the only sort of 'banging' the two would be doing that night - right on top of Cain. In a defensive fit, Cain flipped the blond onto his back, pressing so far into the other that their nostrils flared against each other. Narrowed eyes pierced through a startled stare, the breath of the blond hitching as his chest was squeezed by thick arm muscles. Already, Cain was livid. And, as if his luck couldn't have gone any further South, a stampede of black boots stormed onto the star deck at that exact moment, the captain heading the barrage of men.

Without delay the captain's soldiers pried Cain and Abel apart. "I heard a scream, are you alright?" It was a question laced with genuine concern for the navigator, and a hit of something else Abel couldn't quite distinguish. After drawing a simple 'yes' from Abel, Keeler ordered that Cain be detained. "It looks like you'll be needing that transfer after all Abel. Tell me, Cain. What possessed you to attack your teammate?" A strapping man behind the captain cracked his knuckles as he waited for another order.

Before the accused could protest, Abel reached out to stop the impending brawl. "No! That's not what happened at all! Cain saved me..." Despite the cocked eyebrows and obvious confusion, he continued. "Well, you see. I tried to see the stars closer and ended up falling over the star deck...and Cain here -"

"I yanked him back over. Now get the fuck off me and give me my cash prize so I can leave."  
A multitude of looks were thrown around, most of them filled with disgust as the fighter dislodged himself from the tight grip of two men.

"Well then." Keeler threaded a hand through his hair, averting his gaze to Abel once more to make sure he was really okay. "I apologize for my assumptions. To make up for it, why don't you and Abel join me at tomorrow night's banquet? It's the least I can do. You'll even get to meet all the fine and wealthy men who paid for this cruise."

Since this presented the opportunity for both free rich-people food and time with Abel, Cain accepted with a shrug.

"Right then, I'll see you both tomorrow night, 2030 hours sharp. And Abel," leaning over, his voice at barely a whisper, the captain offered his help again. "Please, remember that you can always call on me if you require anything at all."

Again, the soldier nodded, turning to his teammate once they were finally alone again. "Thank you, I would've been hanging there all night if it hadn't been for you. Though, I'm surprised you made it here...I assumed you weren't coming."

"Heh. All I did was make you stand." Tanned fingers tapped against the infamous railing before Cain decided to go back to Deimos, the one person who would never make assumptions. "See you tomorrow." Turning over his shoulder, he winked and blew a half-hearted kiss at Abel before walking away.

Abel faltered at the unexpected gesture, and this time, as he tried to catch himself, it was the railing that helped him stand.

x x x

It only took one spoon of high-class rich-people food for Cain to realize that he hated it. He should've listened to Deimos. Right about now, the kid was probably drunk off his little ass, partying it up colony-boy style in the ship's basement. Deimos asked for company, but Cain blew him off for the highly anticipated "captain's banquet" with Abel. Apparently, that was a huge mistake, and the fighter resented every last detail: the snobs at the table, the stuffy suit constricting his throat - which he figured was better as a torture device - and most of all, the sorry excuse for contraband the wealthy called 'Trockenberrenauslese'. All Cain wanted was a pair of civvies, some good old-fashioned vodka, and a drunk Abel at his side. As the minutes ticked away, a very sober Abel giggling softly at some joke Cain would never understand, the colonist began to seethe. Another fat guy with a mustache talked about how many planets he owned. Cain's fists clenched. Two dinner guests degraded the waiter - a colonial boy. Cain's eyes dropped to slits. A plate of mini quiche was shoved in his direction. Cain snapped.

"Ah, and by the looks of it, young Abel's fighter is a similar type of colonist. Is that right?" It didn't matter who said it, or what 'type of colonist' he was being compared to, Cain wanted out. Now.

"You wanna know what I think?" He growled, feral and obscene. The men around him clasped their hands and licked drying lips, earnestly awaiting a response. "I think..." at that moment, he proceeded to step up onto the table, clear his throat, and point straight at Captain Keeler. "Fuck you, fuck your expensive 'Char-don-ay' or whatever the hell...shit sucks! And fuck this dinner!" Grabbing speechless-Abel's hand, he leapt off the table and disappeared into the crowd of shell-shocked navigators.

A strict block of silence ensued until a bespectacled man dared to speak first. "My my, captain! What an enthusiastic individual! Bravo!" The other men at the table murmured in agreement, nodding fervently when the rotund planet owner said, "I didn't expect the boy to be so offended when we compared him to Nicholas the Second of Russia. Either way, that fighter is one passionate fellow, destined for great things in the military."

They continued to praise Cain's outburst, all wrapped up in the conversation - except for Keeler, who only wondered if Abel would someday spark the same reaction.

x x x

"You can blink now."

Snapping out of his stupor, the young blond began to break into hysterics. "What was that all about? Are you trying to get us sent back home? Where are we anyways?" He felt along the iron wall, trying to distinguish his position in the dark.

"Too many questions." Without an accurate explanation, the other male took Abel's warm hand in his and led him through the basement hatch. "So, you wanna go to a real party? Here it is."

 

The end. No....just this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the story since we last left our characters on the luxury cruise to Earth.

**A/N** : Yikes. I haven't updated in years (LITERALLY THREE YEARS)!!! Sorry bout that...but literally, I didn't have much time to do anything recreational because of life...I've been on the same page of Lord of the Rings for five years. So yeah, hopefully there are people out there who still wanna read this crap lol. Also: There's no real reason for this...but Abel seems to be attracted to anything with legs. SO. Yeah, I kinda just wanted him to explore his options, so that's why he's acting like a strumpet. This is almost the last chapter.

**Fun Game** : Count how many times I fucking wrote “Abel,” “Cain,” and “he.” Ridiculous. Don’t do it. You’ll be here all day. (Answers at the conclusion of the chapter)

 

 

Loud, energetic music erupted within the crowded room once Abel was pushed through the door. People danced and clapped, smoked and drank, enjoying the night to their hearts content. Upstairs, there had been an obvious air of superiority and general uptightness. Here, the people were united, practically penniless, and carefree. By crossing the threshold into this party - one so opposite from the celebrations he was used to attending - Abel knew he had been thrust into something spectacular. Cain watched his navigator's automatic hypnosis without letting his palm leave Abel's left hip. Bare feet slapped rhythmically against wooden tables while accordions screeched out a catchy native tune. Across the room, on top of a wooden table illuminated by several lamps, a young man danced heedlessly while others whistled.

 

"Hey, Deimos!" The warmth slid from Abel's waist when Cain stepped towards the young man. And - just as the latter began to strip - Cain let out a snarl. "Get the Hell off that table! And...take that damn lampshade off your head!"

 

The heavy and shameful weight of jealousy did not get the chance to weigh Abel down as he watched Cain chase the lampshade-wearing fighter onto the dance floor. Instead, the young and spirited male named Deimos made quite a different impression on the navigator. Once again, Abel was transfixed by the complexity of the human form. Something about this kid suggested danger, and that suggestion alone drew an insatiable lust out of Abel. Deimos was definitely delicate, but in a way that completely contrasted Keeler's innocence. Deimos was thin, but the fragile framework of his figure suggested speed and agility instead of incompetence. When Cain finally slapped the lampshade from his head, Deimos' lustrous grey eyes pierced through a lengthy veil of onyx bangs and dared the men around him to keep staring. Those pale eyes were large and full of wonder, but as his pallid lids lowered over a lustful grin, the fighter's childlike subtleties were revealed to be nothing more than a fleeting facade. To Abel, Deimos was the perfect mix of purity and corruption. And, because of this, his mind was set on one thing: asking the kid if he would be up for a threesome.

 

"Deimos what do you think you're doing?" Cain's voice traveled across the room, hitting Abel's ears and forcing him to alter his focus. "I don't dance," his fighter crossed his arms, sternly resisting the gyrating Deimos, who had replaced the lampshade on his head and was now wearing it as a hat. Suddenly, when Cain's guard was down, Deimos pushed his perky little ass against Cain's crotch to convince him. Abel figured that if there was any time to jump in, it was now.

 

"H-hey . . . Cain," he was hardly able to finish, because in the next instant, Deimos grabbed him by the hand and started to dance against him instead.

 

At first, a sour pout played on Cain's features as he stood, discarded, in the middle of the floor. But as his dark eyes followed Deimos, watching his tiny hands entwine themselves around his navigator's neck as they danced, that pout quickly slipped into a grin that was sinister enough to rival the Grinch on Christmas Eve. He would let them dance without him, but only because his mind was now set on one thing: asking them both if they would be up for a threesome.

 

Though Deimos' grey eyes were focused intensely on the blond, he had allowed himself an inconspicuous glance at Cain. 'Good,' he had thought silently, catching a nasty scowl on the other's face. He had then interlaced his fingers behind Abel's neck, missing the slow smirk that built on his colonial friend's mouth. The navigator was like silly putty in his hands: malleable, and incredulously stupid. Deimos had a strong opinion about silly putty, stemming from that time he had gotten it stuck in his hair. Regardless, with all memories of last week's putty mishap aside, the small fighter recognized that all was going according to plan when Abel offered a shy smile. He had finally separated Cain from Abel, and he had struck a nerve with the former. If luck was on his side, Cain would be so consumed by jealousy that he would storm off, leaving Abel unaccounted for in a room with nobody to claim him. Then, and only then, would Demos be able to carry out his ultimate plan. For, just as the minds of Cain and Abel, his own mind was set on just one thing: murdering Abel so that he could have Cain all to himself.

 

With his eyes sparkling and his conscience being beaten into submission by the urge to kill, Deimos snaked a pallid digit beneath Abel’s chin. Cain watched eagerly, fighting the urge to interrupt. Abel stared incredulously into those sparkling grey eyes, ready to give into the urge to give the little fighter a kiss. But as luck would have it, neither the three plans nor associated urges were able to come to fruition.

 

"Deimos! WHAT in the galaxy do you think you're doing?" Several shocked heads swiveled around to see a seething navigator, his shoulder-length hair flying every which way as he marched straight towards the center of the dance floor. The navigator shot a malevolent glare in Deimos' direction.

 

"Phobos!" Instantly recognizing the navigator, Abel slid away from his dance partner. "Ah--uh, is this your fighter?"

 

Without giving as much as an acknowledgement to anyone else, Phobos locked his fighter's forearm in an impermeable grasp before dragging him towards the exit. "I thought I was hearing things when Porthos said he saw you slinking outside the captain's banquet! 'No,' I said, 'Deimos can't be here, he's back on the base, doing HIS PART of that training sim that's due TOMORROW.' But no, here you are, canoodling around on a cruise for navigators!" He pushed past a stunned Abel, practically foaming at the mouth as he left the room with his fighter in tow. "That's it. You're coming with me, and you are NOT leaving my sight until the simulation is done!"

 

"N-n..." Deimos rasped, attempting to protest as he watched his plan unfurl before his eyes. A desperate hand clenched onto empty air as he tried futilely to reach for an unimpressed Cain.

 

"Stop it! You're lucky I don't report you to Captain Keeler for trespassing. Let's go!"

 

All eyes followed the ranting navigator until he disappeared through the exit. Yet, the spirit of festivity was too strong in the room to be quelled for long. As soon as the pair was out of sight, the remaining guests began to dance and drink once again, more gleefully than before.

 

Abel stepped softly over to Cain, placing a sympathetic palm on his fighter's crossed arms. "I'm sorry about your friend...I can talk to Phobos about not being so rough on him if you'd like."

 

"Heh." The other waved him off. "In my opinion he wasn't rough enough." He looked truly bothered for only a moment more, but quickly shook it off in favor of replacing his arm around the navigator's hips. "Never mind him...what do you say I pick up where Deimos left off?"

 

A blush was quick to stain pale cheeks as Abel recalled, "But I thought you didn't dance..."

 

"I don't," came the perplexing reply. "But apparently you can." Without a warning, he pulled the blond tightly against himself and spun him back out again, making the other giggle.

 

Back in Cain's grasp, Abel found his footing before they shared a smile, hands clasped together tightly as their shoes slid against the floor. With flexed feet and forgone fears, they tapped ceaselessly into the night to a beat forged by the ecstasies of the human heart.

 

X X X

 

The following day, all discussion between the navigators focused on a single rumor. And, as rumors often do, this particular rumor circulated unnaturally fast. Soon enough, it had captured the interest of every white-wearing soldier onboard--except one.

 

"...so do you think it's true? I doubt something like that would just be lying around here. Hey...Abel?" It was Ethos, a navigator Abel understood belonged (in the loose sense of the word) to Praxis. He politely waved a portly palm in front of the other's absent expression.

 

"Hm? What was that you said?" Abel raised his head, blinked once, and mentally returned to his seat in the decorated dining room. He hadn't remembered coming here, or even filling the plate before him with miscellaneous selections from the opulent lunch buffet. His fighter--as well as his fighter's arms, his eyes, his mere presence--consumed his thoughts. Ever since last night's 3rd class celebration forever altered his perception of what a party should and should not entail (he now opted for lampshade wearing and dirty dancing as opposed to state dinners and government fundraisers), Abel had developed an uncharacteristic aversion to affluence. Though he was in a room of crystal, surrounded by hundreds of light-haired and wealthy soldiers who were chewing on caviar, he desperately wanted to return below deck and "throw down" with Cain again.

 

"Are you alright?" Ethos tried again. "Do you want me to walk you to the medical--"

 

"Ah, no, it's fine Ethos." Abel pressed the pads of his fingers against his temple, giving the other navigator a brief smile. "What was it you were saying before?" After a short, pensive pause, Ethos studied Abel's features before he continued: "Right...if you're sure you're alright."

 

Abel nodded abruptly.

 

"I was asking about that rumor going around, Keeler's secret flight simulator. Everyone says it's somewhere onboard. Apparently it's one huge cheat sheet or something. If a navigator uses it, he's guaranteed to pass every training exam the captains will give us." He stopped once more, waiting for a reaction from his friend, but the other merely blinked, uninterested. "Haha...yeah, I didn't think it existed either." Ethos trailed off then, poking a fork at his quiche as they sat without speaking.

 

An uncomfortable silence swelled between them, punctuated by the low hum of conversation between the other navigators, and by the persistent and mechanized scraping of the fork against the porcelain plate.

 

Finally, a dull clatter got Abel’s attention — Ethos was awash with concern, his arms now crossed over the fork he had purposefully dropped. “You really do look out of it. If you won’t go see the doctor, please, at least get some rest.”

 

The other stood with a sigh, giving in. “Yeah…I guess you’re right. Just need to get my mind off some things.” He left quickly, leaving his full plate and a doubtful Ethos behind.

 

At first, he began to amble towards his cabin, content to calm his racing brain. But betrayed by his boots, he began wandering — almost in a daze — down another path. Past diamond doors and hallways with high ceilings and plush carpets, past the butlers’ quarters in second class, Abel’s steps guided him down a dimly lit corridor with concrete floors. A flickering light buzzed loudly, bringing the blond instantly from his stupor. He had reached the 3rd class cabins, the servant’s quarters. Cain’s quarters. And, as if on queue, as he flushed and swiveled around to retreat back to his own room, Abel collided directly with the subject of his obsessive thoughts.

 

“Going somewhere?” Cain’s face was hidden by shadows, half-illuminated by the single buzzing lightbulb, but his teeth glistened in the midst of a smug smirk. Yet, upon seeing Abel’s dazed expression and red face, his grin dropped. “What’s up with you? Now that I think of it, what the Hell is up with all the Navis? They’re gabbing like girls about some secret something or other. Do you know what that’s about?”

 

Putting a palm across his face to hide his remaining blush, Abel shrugged. “Oh that…? It’s just some simulator. Has the answers to the training exams programmed inside it or something. I don’t really know all the details I wasn’t really listening, my mind was on…other things.” Trailing off, the navigator adjusted himself in the darkness. “But anyways, it’s no big deal it probably doesn’t even exist, it’s—“

 

“Let’s go.” Cain interrupted, causing the other to do a double take.

 

“What? Go where?”

 

“Tsk,” Cain rolled his eyes before declaring, “we’re going to find that simulator.”

 

X X X

 

“This…is…astounding.” Pale hands ran cautiously across a thick metal sphere as Abel’s eyes widened marginally. “I didn’t think it was real!”

 

Cain beamed as he watched his navigator observe the simulator’s exterior. Though they had to duck through air ducts and slither through several seemingly purposeless parts of the spacecraft, the fighter had eventually stumbled upon a hidden hatch that contained the rumored simulator. He was proud of himself for finding it. Yet, still somewhat confused as to why it was located in 3rd class, only a few inches from where they had started the search. “Well, are ya gonna stop staring and go inside? Turn that shit on, I want to get those test answers.”

 

And so Abel did, prying the door of the sphere open and slipping inside after his flight partner. “It’s empty!” He said, a pang of disappointment surging through him as the echo of his footfalls bounced off of a barren floor and blank walls.

 

“No, look. Over there.” Blinking buttons and levers illuminated the otherwise pitch-black sphere as the two soldiers approached the control panel cautiously. “I guess this is how you turn it on.” They shared a curious glance as Abel’s trembling hand hovered over the ignition switch. “Just hit it already!” Cain’s tanned fist came flying out of nowhere, flattening out before it made impact with Abel’s thin fingers.

 

Vrrrrrroop! A tiny drawer slid out from the control panel, holding inside it two wire-framed gloves that Abel hurried to put on. Instantaneously, the darkened sphere’s blank walls blazed brilliantly, billions of stars and comets shooting about in every direction. When the holographic throttle materialized directly in front of his gloved hands, nerves gripped the navigator. “I’m not sure if I know how to fly this.” In the moments following he felt fingers folding around his own, positioning his hands around the handle.

 

“Can’t be different from the ones you’ve flown before. You are a navigator, aren’t you?” Cain quipped, his hands lingering on the other’s.

 

“Ugh.” Abel’s eyes rolled, clamping his hand around the throttle and pulling it into position. Suddenly, the simulator launched into a turbulent flight pattern, continuing to quake until Abel pulled back on the lever. When the simulator began to develop a steady course, he glanced over his shoulder and tried to suppress a laugh.

 

Both of Cain’s arms were clamped around Abel’s ribs, and his face was marred with terror — something Abel found absolutely hilarious. Clearing his throat, the fighter attempted to defend himself. “What? It’s a good simulator. Felt like the real thing. And you’re a bad driver.”

 

Abel’s hands flew to his hips. “Oh is that right?” Dully noting that Cain’s arms were still wrapped around him, he challenged him. “Let’s see if you can do a better job.”

 

Accepting the challenge, Cain scoffed, rearranging his grip so that one hand rested on the throttle, and the other on Abel’s waist. “This is how it’s done.” Eventually, the simulator pursued a persistent path and Cain convinced Abel to take the helm as he returned his hands to lanky hips.

 

The simulated stars swirled ahead of them, looking strikingly similar to the real thing. “I’m flying!” His arms stretched outward as he mimicked outstretched wings. "I'm the king of the Universe!"

 

"Not bad. You could almost pass for a real pilot."

 

Taking his eyes from the scene before them, he craned his neck backwards and came face to face with the other's smirk. "You really think so...?" The words came out softly, his eyes lingering on those lips a little too long.

 

The answer came in the form of a gesture; a subtle angling of the face, to close the remaining distance between tentative lips and secure the other within a long-awaited kiss. Warmth enveloped them both, beginning on the tips of their tender tongues and radiating throughout their entire beings. Though the genuine grace and enchantment of outer space pivoted around the two bodies, neither was able to consider anything apart from the other’s kiss.

 

When at last they parted, Abel held tight to his fighter’s shoulders, afraid that he would either fall or float away if he weren’t firmly grounded. Teeth grazed thoughtfully against his own lip before he spoke, eyes locked enduringly and expectantly on gentle black irises. “You wanna go somewhere?"

 

Canines glistened as Cain accepted, nodding slyly. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

X X X

 

He'd been to his room countless times throughout the voyage, but it was not until he was crossing the threshold with his fighter following close behind that he truly took notice of the decor. Before, he had trod thoughtlessly over the costly carpet that sported intricate designs. Personal possessions were strewn across a mahogany dresser, draped over brass handles and covering complex engravings. Silk sheets on the circular bed lay in disarray, and a single sock hung conspicuously on the glass jewels that comprised the hanging chandelier.

 

Embarrassment crept up on him like a vengeful spirit, bringing the blond hairs on his forearms to attention as he realized that he was most likely being judged by his future bunkmate. "I am so, so sorry for the mess." A futile effort to clean the place by kicking a used cup beneath the gold leaf sofa went unnoticed by the other male, and Abel sighed as he abandoned the effort. "We didn't get a lot of time as roommates before the commanders sent me on this cruise, but I promise, I'm not usually this messy."

 

Cain hardly acknowledged the apology, much less the disheveled state of the room. "What the Hell!" He stormed towards the bathroom, arms crossed, making sure to glare icily at the oak dining set as he passed it. "Aw come on!" The complaint echoed against the bathroom's marble floors, dissipating only to be replaced by a low growl when the colonist tested the high-pressure rain shower. He then returned to the main room to pout at the sheer abundance of it all. "How come you have all this fancy shit when I'm sleeping on a bunk bed with RATS?"

 

Abel's brows furrowed. He watched his younger colleague with confusion and simultaneous relief, brought about by the notion that the clutter wasn't making a terrible impression. "Well, you should've cheated Praxis out of a first class ticket instead." The joke was shrugged off, and he soon found himself scrambling to stop Cain as he fled to the sitting room to rip a painting off the wall. “Stop! What are you doing?”

 

“I’m stealing this.” He stated matter of factly, attempting to cradle the canvas under his arm. “Should go for a couple thousand on the black market. Who did this, that Mozart guy?”

 

Despite the gross misinformation that was spewing from Cain’s mouth, Abel simpered, looking down at his feet. “Ah, actually. I did.

 

They stared at each other in silence, the painting of a Parisian landscape slipping slowly from a loosening grasp. A while later, Cain huffed, placing the picture gently on the ground. “Great. So it’s worthless.” He sighed in frustration as Abel scrubbed the back of his own head, slightly insulted. And as hard as he tried, Cain couldn’t seem to find anything of worth in the room that he could easily slip out the door. “Ah, forget it. Are you sure you drew that?” He touched a toe to the corner of the canvas, careful not to kick it over. “You don’t look like a painter.”

 

Abel smiled again, as he often found himself doing around Cain. “I’m sure,” he whispered, a strange idea working itself through his head. “I could draw something for you, to prove the painting is mine.”

 

“OK. If it’s shit, that means this one here IS by some famous dead guy and it’s worth selling on the black market.”

 

“Deal.” The two shook hands abruptly, verbalizing at the same time. After locating a notebook under some used towels, Abel tapped an old charcoal pencil against his chin. He decided against using his PearPad™ and stylus; for a challenge of this nature, he reasoned, it was best to go back to basics. _But what should I draw…?_ The navigator’s pupils bounced around the room, pausing on every irritatingly ornamental piece of furniture before he finally settled on the perfect subject. “Hey Cain…would you mind moving over a couple inches? Yeah, there is good, right under the light.”

 

The unsuspecting subject shrugged and dropped down on the bed, resting his chin in his hand as the heel of his dirty combat boot dug into the silk sheets.

 

“Alright, now stay still.” The coal scratched the sepia paper, gliding easier than the stylus ever had; he’d made the right choice. _And with those dark eyes_ , his own eyes flickered up to meet the other’s as the thought crossed his mind, _the coal will bring them out perfectly._ He smirked at the thought, quickly adding, “Uh, I just need everything in the room to be still while I draw, or else the light will be all wrong” to avoid suspicion.

 

But the deliberate diversion did little to fool the fighter. With a swift and suspecting side-eye, Cain asked, “What is it you’re drawing again?” The resulting flush from the painter was enough of an answer. “Hm.” His posture worsened, his other boot coming to join the first on the sheets. “Just make it quick.”

 

It was harder than he first imagined, capturing a subject like Cain on paper. On the surface, he was staring at a rough and tumble colonist with dirty boots and a bad attitude. And yet, as he squinted and strained, bit his lip and stuck his tongue out in concentration, he was starting to recognize something more — another, lesser known layer to the fighter that he had long hoped to discover. Through this inexplicable form of intimacy, he was able to observe obvious strength in the angle of Cain’s jaw, ambition in the crease of his brow, even a long-lived anguish in the perfunctory purse of his lips. And, as Abel concluded the sketch, he realized that something else was hidden inside those intense irises that he tried and failed repetitively to suss out. Was it tenderness? Insecurity? Hesitation? Guilt?

 

Just as Cain’s eyes flickered forward, bringing the answer to the tip of Abel’s tongue, heavy footsteps approached the front door.

 

Abel’s eyes widened, his body becoming rigid as he racked his mind, wondering who it could be and why the person decided that now was a good time to bother him.

 

“Abel? Did you make it back okay?”

 

After a relieved yet exasperated sigh, the artist stashed his supplies in a nearby safe and prepared to greet Ethos. Before he could fully open the door, he was whisked into the sitting room and pressed against the wall.

 

“It’s me, Ethos.”

 

The fighter and the navigator stood as still as statues, their breath mingling as they hid. Bright brown eyes, wide and curious, wordlessly asked for an explanation.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Forming each word carefully, silently, Cain mouthed: “ _Do you want to come with me…_ ”

 

“Oh! The door’s open, Abel if you’re in there I’m coming in. I hope that’s okay.” The second navigator stumbled, tripping over the door frame before emitting a nervous chuckle. “Oops…hope your door is ok, I just tripped over my own feet.”

 

“… _or be stuck here entertaining that idiot?_ ”

 

Abel gasped inaudibly. He couldn’t believe the words he was seeing. Ethos was kind, pure, friendly. He wouldn’t mind entertaining him at all now that his mind was at ease. But by the third time Abel heard the round-faced soldier apologizing to various objects in the room as he tripped over them, he shook his head reluctantly. “ _Let’s go._ ”

 

Still pressed closely against each other, they listened as Ethos continued talking to himself, narrating each step. “What’s in this room? Oh! Hey, Abel? I hope you don’t mind me using your bathroom. I’ll be right out.” The door clicked closed, and the sink began to run.

 

Cain, so close now that the tip of his nose brushed against Abel’s, gestured to the open front door.

 

_There it is again_ , Abel identified; that enigmatic emotion in Cain’s eyes, appearing as a fleeting flash of vehemence. _Oh!_ Abel nearly glowed crimson as he placed the word he had been looking for. _It’s_ —

 

“Hey Abel, can I use this lotion? It’s the pink one…never mind. I just dropped it in the toilet by accident. I’ll buy you a new one don’t worry!”

 

As soon as the door handle turned, Cain grabbed his navigator and slid through the open door.

 

Hand in hand, they made a run for it, leaving inhibition — and Ethos — behind.

 

X X X

 

When Cain had asked Abel if he knew somewhere no one would find them, they both knew, before either had offered a suggestion, that they would end up back inside the secret simulator. Again, they followed precedent, deploying the gloves and watching as the planets danced before them.

 

“You’re an expert at this navigating stuff now. You might even be able to fly a real ship someday.”

 

“Shut up Cain.”

 

The other shrugged, coming to stand directly in front of his teammate. “Okay. So we know you can fly.” Rough hands clasped wire-framed gloves. “But we also know…that there’s no way in Hell that the painting was yours.”

 

“Shut up Cain.” His palms burned inside of the gloves, the heat of Cain’s hands radiating through the metal and through Abel’s body. “You didn’t even see the picture I just drew of you.”

 

“Shut up Abel.” He looked amused as he mocked the older recruit, his voice turning to velvet after securing the blond’s face between his hands. “I know it’s yours.” With a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips, he made his final demand. “Kiss me.”

 

And Abel did, the pallid skin of his cheeks coloring as he finally singled out that illusive and uncharacteristic emotion.

 

_It’s passion._

 

**A/N:** _The cries of “LAAAMMMMEEEE” echo in the distance. I hear them. I jump onto the table and release a battle cry. I do not give a fuck._ YES…it is a trite and embarrassing way to end the chapter but trust me when I say, you people are going to be begging for this sappy shit in the chapter after the next one (which I will NOT take another 3 years to update I swear to the sweet baby Jesus). The chapter after next is where things. Go. DOWN. (Quite Literally, because as the title suggests, it is LITERALLY, SPACE TITANIC.) Please keep reading. I apologize for taking literally 70 years to update but it will not happen again. Love you all!

 

**Answers to the “Fun Game”** : 72, 52, and 95 respectively. I am shocked to all Hell that I didn’t break 100. Thanks for playing, see you next time on The Price is Right!


	4. Sex Will Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final and BANGIN installment of the Space Titanic saga. Things. Go. Down. Get your lifeboats ready for the emotional wave that is the final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW -- some scenes illustrating the aftermath of war, graphic depictions of violence, death, and weapons.

Death. It was the farthest thing from Abel's mind as Cain's perspiring form consumed and pervaded his mental and physical body. In fact, he had never felt more alive in the affectionate moments that lead to their forbidden fornication. He had felt alive when Cain's incisors idly grazed the tender lobes of his ears. He had felt alive when Cain had dropped to his knees for him, blowing his mind with the flick of a tongue against turgid flesh. He felt alive when Cain slipped inside of him, breathing "I hope you're ready to get fucked Princess" into red-tipped ears before establishing a rhythm that drove them both blissfully insane. No, death was the farthest thing from Abel's mind in those vivacious moments, but it was closer than he ever dared to suspect. 

The cold fingers of death did not encircle themselves around Abel's fevered neck until Cain's animal instincts heightened dangerously. When the navigator flipped over to face his fighter, lifting limber legs to wrap around a chiseled waist, the colony-born fighter gave in to carnal cravings and slammed Abel's back into the simulator's wall. And though the blond thought this move the height of passion, it was this move in particular that sealed their fate. 

As Abel's spine collided with the cool glass of the simulator's screen, a booming voice echoed all around him. "Hello?" It called, startling both males into shock. They instantaneously disentangled from one another, dressing hastily as if they had just been caught fucking by a parent. "Hello? Navigator X, are you there?" 

Commander Bering's head stretched across the screen, soon accompanied by the face of commander Cook. "He can't hear us you imbecile, this is an answering machine..." said the blond. 

The two younger soldiers exchanged baffled looks, grateful that they were not being watched as they once believed. Still, they both turned their full attention to the screen as the commanders fumbled with a microphone. 

"Good work, Bazin. Our plan has now commenced, just like we discussed. You will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination once we secure your safe return to the base."

"Bazin?" Abel balked. He could not possibly understand what two commanding officers would possibly want from a bashful--and frankly, brainless--navigator like Bazin. After all, Abel had always pegged Bazin to be more of a random, background type of guy. 

"Bering, you fool!" Cook screeched. "You're not supposed to divulge his name! What if someone found out about the second cockpit--the REAL cockpit--and discovered our plot thanks to your negligence? Start over!" 

"Right, right. Let me start again. Navigator X," Bering continued, "I send you this message in full admiration. Thanks to your diligent work of jamming the radars and lifting the cloaking shields, we can finally confirm that the Colterons have locked on to the cruise ship, and will be commencing the attack as scheduled. Hopefully the enemy will provoke our test subject enough to push him to his full potential, as we had always hoped A--I mean...Navigator Z...would reach. Only time will tell."

Every drop of blood drained out of Abel's face. "Colterons...? Second cockpit?" 

"You must hurry, Navigator X. The escape pod will depart in T-20 minutes. After you launch, the other pods will be programmed to quietly self-destruct. It will only be a matter of time before the Colterons arrive after that. So make haste."

Cook pushed wire-framed glasses along the bridge of his nose, a smirk spreading across his features before he uttered, "Good luck." 

The message ended and the screen returned to a stunning display of stars. Cain and Abel stood staring, speechless, as the reality of their mortality slowly crept in like a jungle cat closing in on his prey. Neither dared to move a single muscle until Able gave hesitant instructions. "Cain...check the time stamp on that message." 

Wasting no time, as they both realized just how precious time was, Cain pulled up the data panel, only to reveal information that made both of their hearts drop. "...Thirty minutes ago." 

The only working escape pod had launched ten minutes prior. The ship was going down.

"What do we do?" The navigator asked his partner hopelessly. 

Cain clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he began to tremble with rage. "I don't know, 'Navigator Z'...why don't YOU tell me why the commanders sent their whole crew to die just so you could reach your 'full potential,' huh?" 

The other raised his eyebrows, incredulous."You think 'Navigator Z' is ME? That I have something to do with this? Cain...I'm in the same boat as you, and if we don't do something soon, we are ALL going to die!" 

"Save it," Cain scoffed, making his way through the exit. "While you try to pass the commanders' little test I'll be trying to save this ship." With one last look, he echoed Cook's chilling final words: "Good luck."

Once alone, Abel slapped a hand against his brow and fought back tears. He racked his brain for a solution, repressing Cain's allegation that he was Navigator Z. "But," he thought reluctantly, "what if I am?" And if that damning accusation did turn out to be true, he could only do one thing to ensure the safety of each innocent life left onboard. "I have to give the commanders what they want," he reasoned before yelling into the screen full of constellations, "I'll show you... I'll be the best navigator you've ever seen!" Reaching for the control gloves, he strained to remember everything he had ever learned about flying. 

The cloaking shield was annihilated, the radars were irreparably jammed, and it looked like the ship had become locked into an autopilot program destined for destruction. "Come on...come on!" Hands flew furiously over an unresponsive switchboard as Abel tried desperately to disable the current course. It was headed straight for enemy territory, and as something flashed past his line of sight, Abel found that the ship was headed for something much worse. 

"Oh my god."

If this has been any other cruise, on any other course, at any other point in time, it would have been a marvelous sight. Children would have pointed, tourists would have snapped photos, and all would have eventually gazed in awe, feeling fortunate to have witnessed such a beautiful sight: a glistening crystal suspended in space, spinning slowly and casting a majestic metaphorical shadow over everything in its wake. Yes, the gargantuan mass of debris--scientifically known as space junk--was ethereal in its own right. But it was also in the ship's direct path. 

A harrowed heart pounded heavily, skipping a beat as Abel's attempt to engage the left thrusters failed miserably. Sweat dripped idly from a brow creased with pure hysteria as the autopilot refused to disengage. He swiveled, swiped, and smashed gloved fingers against stubborn switches until the bones cracked beneath his skin, but to no avail. The faces of friends flickered behind eyelids dampened by defeat. Cain surged through his thoughts, his heart, his being. "I'm sorry..." he confessed to the recent memory of dark, brooding irises. He finally gave in, turning his back to the screen and slumping like a rag doll to the ground. And there he sat, broken and shamed, waiting for the inevitable. 

When finally the ship made impact with the object, a sickening scrape sounding in Abel's ears, all remaining hope drained from his body and mind, leaving him a corpse. Though he was thrown to the other side of the cockpit, he did not make any effort to stand after his body smacked against the star-filled wall. There was nothing more that could be done. 

But then, he heard the screams.

Teeth clamped around quivering lips so hard that they produced a steady trickle of blood. He bit deeper into his flesh as he heard the haunting screams, the bloodcurdling cries of HIS crew, HIS colleagues, HIS friends. As they intensified, growing louder and now accompanied by the sound of shots fired, Abel rose, wiping the crimson trail from his ivory chin. The Colterons were here. 

They had most likely waited for the ship to make impact with the debris in hopes that the collision would stall the engine, which it had. The luxury cruise liner was now suspended in space, immobile and unprotected as the enemy waltzed in, unchallenged. Those monsters would stop at nothing until every last officer, navigator, and servant on that ship was dead. 

With that thought igniting in him a stubborn determination, Abel threw the decidedly useless gloves aside and sped towards the source of the horrific sounds. 

X X X

Abel smelled burning flesh for the first time when he entered the third class hall. Outside the safe haven of the commanders' cockpit, the universe crumbled. He staggered in darkness, deaf to everything except turmoil, inhaling the pungent odor of his friends' decaying bodies. With watering eyes he pressed on, feeling along blood-soaked hallways and stepping over charred remains. As the screaming lessened, the carnage increased, and soon Abel was stumbling in silence. 

After he turned a tight corner, nearly tripping over the corpse of a navigator he had seen just hours before, an unconvincingly stern and familiar voice reverberated in the dark. "Who's there? Identify yourself or I'll shoot in three...two..."

"Captain Keeler!" The navigator fumbled, eyes bulging in simultaneous relief and revulsion as he lurched towards the sound of the young captain's rapturous voice. "It's me, Abel! Don't shoot!" He then squinted as a painfully brilliant light met his bloodshot eyes. It was gone as soon as it appeared, and the temporary blindness faded as sturdy arms embraced him warmly. 

"Captain, it really is him. Oh, Abel am I glad to see you!" It was Ethos, tucking away a nebular flashlight and contorting his freshly injured face into a grin as he released his friend from a powerful embrace. 

Lowering his laser gun, Keeler nodded, urging the two to follow his lead. Purple bruises hung under the captain's usually youthful eyes, his signature smirk replaced with a look of dying determination. "We don't have much time. The ship will won't go down quickly, but it's crawling with Colterons. Almost half the navigators are gone, and I can't contact Cook or Bering." 

Abel's stomach turned. "Sir, I have a feeling the commanders are fully aware of the situation." Even with the little information Abel had given, he knew Keeler understood. 

Three pairs of feet squelched over organs and bodily fluids that pooled on the floor as Keeler actively sought enemy intruders. No one dared to breathe as much as a whisper while their pupils strained against shadows to catch a glimpse of the enemy's sickly green and gray skin.

"I don't think the Terons are going to show their faces around three of us," Ethos eventually concluded. 

"Cowards." Keeler huffed, unsheathing a massive knife and plucking a discarded pistol from the ground. "You're right. We should separate. We can cover more ground that way. We'll try to kill as many as we can and then escape on their ship. Take these," he handed the gun to Ethos and the blade to Abel, adding, "and for the love of the Mother please make it out alive" before disappearing into the blackness. 

The other navigator shared a small smile. "See you soon..." he said softly, slinking off with a salute. 

The knife was a rock in his palm, heavy and archaic to a man who had trained with lasers and simulators his entire life. Abel wasn't sure how much use a knife would be against an intergalactic enemy, but he took the captain's advice and shifted along moaning metal walls towards certain uncertainty. 

Soon enough, another recognizable sound--a string of colonial curses--kick started his heart, causing the organ to hammer uncontrollably as he combed the hallways diligently searching for the source of the sound. "Cain!" 

As an ear-shattering roar rattled the ship, Abel barreled down the corridor, his labored breath echoing in his ears. 

"Myshnook! Get out of here!" Cain ordered, cursing once more as the other fighter ignored him, opting for combat instead. Abel inched around the corner, his eyes widening exponentially as he spotted the massive alien that was taking measured shots at his two colleagues. They fought hard and fast against the creature, dodging and slashing simultaneously while Abel's body shut down. The blood froze within his veins as piercing white ocular receptors flashed past him to focus on his friends. As much as he wanted to help, to distract that thing by making his presence known, he could not find it in himself to move. 

Abel's flight partner shot from close range, bashing the useless weapon over the alien's head after it jammed. Deimos then left Cain's side to circle around the beast, driving his knife unsuccessfully into a thick grey exoskeleton. "Get OUT of here I can handle this!" Cain urged, using the gun as a bat and cracking the hard shell. The Colteron clicked its pincers angrily, shooting white-hot beams every which way from a gigantic gun. It ignored Cain's hit, screeching at Deimos before it plucked the tiny fighter from its neck and flung him into a nearby wall. "Fuck off you giant beetle!" Cain quickly smashed the gun against the Colteron's side, but it only made it angrier. In response, it clicked again as if laughing at Cain's attempt, and took one well-aimed shot at Deimos' slumped form. "NO!" 

Deimos was too fast for the lasers, quickly leaping up and clutching the fresh wound on his shoulder before lunging at the Colteron. They continued to fight, Abel's confidence in his team growing enough for him to make his presence known. "Cain," he stuttered, gripping the knife Keeler had given him. "Catch!" 

The fighter lifted his head, scowling at the sight of the navigator before reluctantly catching the weapon with ease. "What are YOU doing here?" Cain griped without taking his eyes off the enemy. "We have this," he gestured to Deimos, who nodded and narrowed his eyes at the navigator. "Go back to your precious commanders." With another series of fast clicks, like Morris code, the Colteron called a collection of colleagues. They filed in like ants, swarming around Deimos and Cain as the two humans raised their weapons, back to back. 

"If I were working with the commanders don't you think I would be in an escape pod right now instead of on a crashing ship fighting Terons?” 

Cain scowled, eventually shaking his head and grinning slowly. “Ok you have a point.” 

“Of course I do. Let me help!" Abel proposed, curling his bare hands into fists and stepping towards the fight. But a cool rush of air meeting the back of his neck gave him pause, his back becoming wet with sweat as he turned in the opposite direction, only to be met with beady white eyes. He watched the Colteron slide a pointed finger to its semblance of a mouth, taunting him. In the next moment he found himself on the ground, struggling against the kicks of his adversary. Wriggling from beneath its foot, Abel grabbed a fist full of its pincers and pulled, evoking an earthshaking shriek. As it floundered, he drove the the pincers into its eyes and it fell to the floor, defeated. “Deimos, Cain, go for their eyes!” 

Around him, lasers blazed and flames danced in the fading darkness, growing higher and hotter as the ship began to crumble. Cain and Deimos tried to remain steady on the trembling ground but it was not without difficulty. Even with Abel’s help, the three made little progress against the unforgiving enemy. 

Colteron after Colteron appeared from dark corners and stretching shadows, seemingly unbothered by the ship’s gradual deterioration. The aliens were winning, and Cain was more aware of that fact than the others. When he was sure Abel was out of earshot, he turned to his friend. “You two…you have to get out of here…” he strained, tight-lipped and unflinching as he drove a knife into yet another milky white eyeball. “I'll hold them off, and you two get to their ship and escape. Find as many survivors as you can…then get the hell out of here.”

The smallest fighter whipped his head towards the other with wide eyes and furrowed brows, doubtful he had heard the right words. He refocused his efforts only when an invader’s bullet whizzed past his arm, scorching his sleeve. Yet, his face remained twisted in disbelief. “You will come after?” He already knew the answer before the rasping words left his tender throat. 

“I can't do that,” Cain continued coldly after crucifying another Colteron. “Go. I will make sure they don't follow.” 

“Я не оставлю тебя!” Sorrow stung against ice colored irises, threatening to spill over from the great internalized pain. 

“Не спорь со мной.” After a few erratic beats of his heart Cain caught the other’s eyes, ignoring for a split second the carnage and destruction at his feet while remaining all but firm in his initial orders. “Если вы можете жить, я счастливо отдаю свою жизнь.” He watched a naturally pale face go ghastly white. “Do not argue. Take care of him for me,” dark eyes lingered on blond hair and sweating skin. “And take care of yourself.” 

A single wet drop stained pink cheeks. “Alexi…” 

“What did I say about arguing? Chin up.” He prevented a pair of pincers from sinking into the other’s neck before screaming, “go! Go NOW.” 

Deimos closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened he was determined and ready to follow orders. With a nod he strode towards Abel, breaking into a run as the blond was struck in the side with an enormous black blade. The navigator cried out in tremendous pain, and Cain flew into a panic. “I got it,” the tiny, agile colonist assured before killing the attacker and scooping Abel’s arms around his small neck. “Быть осторожен—behind you” he warned the other startled fighter before dragging Abel away from the flames. 

With blood pouring from his wound, staining the once pristine white uniform, Abel turned his bleary eyes towards his blurred flight partner. “Cain,” he tugged on his savior’s sleeve as he urged him, “we have to help Cain.”

The fighter in question turned to the bleeding blond, shooting him a somber smirk and a salute. “It’s been fun Princess. Paint something in my memory, ok?” 

The gears in Abel’s mind churned slowly, the intolerable pain of his wound eating away at his intelligence bit by bit. “…What do you mean…” he turned to Deimos, who couldn't bare to look back. “What is he talking about?” A sea of unconsciousness threatened to pull him under but he fought to keep his head above. “Cain…no you can't do this!” He kicked at the air and grasped at phantoms that haunted his fading vision as he strove to free himself of his rescuer’s embrace. “Deimos we can't leave him here we can’t!” 

Cain, solidified in his sacrifice, clenched his jaw and raised steadfast fists against a compounding Colteron cavalry. This was it. With weapons wasted and knives dulled he knew he would not make it more than mere minutes after the others had escaped. But with Abel’s chance for survival increasing incrementally the farther they were pulled apart, the threat of death diminished further and further into a worthwhile promise. It was that thought that cemented him to the ground, preventing him from following the others and cradling them in his bloodstained arms. Facing the alien invaders, he took one last look at the blond before bellowing, “bring it on you fucking bastards!” 

“Cain no! You can't fight them you’ll die!” Turning again to Deimos with insanity-induced streams of spit spewing with every panicked plea, he begged: “leave me here! If you won't save him then leave me!”

Deimos took in a fortifying breath, adamant about fulfilling what he now recognized to be Cain’s last wishes. He repositioned Abel’s arm around his shoulders, squeezing until his fingers turned white, and hauled him away as Cain’s falling figure faded from sight. 

Exhaustion and weakness from his untreated wound soon caused the navigator to collapse into the body that led him to an uncertain and unappealing future. After hearing a few unfriendly sounding words in a language he didn't understand, a small sliver of hope struck his comatose form as soon as two additional voices joined the first in rushed conversation. Though his eyes were closed and his body unable to function, Abel’s ears picked up almost every word. 

“Hey…you’re the fighter paired with Phobos…and…oh no! Abel, he's hurt!” 

“Ethos, help to carry Abel. Thank you, Deimos isn't it? We don't have much time…we have to head to the Colteron ship now if we want to get out of here alive.” 

Abel felt his weight shift evenly between two shoulders. “Survivors?” Deimos murmured, moving disjointly with Ethos by his side and jostling Abel’s limp body between them. 

There was a brief pause; Abel imagined Keeler shaking his head and biting his bottom lip dejectedly. “No…we are the only ones left. I was shocked to see you both alive to be honest.” 

Porthos…Phobos…Selene…all dead. Though he hadn't been friends with most of the navigators, it was still inconceivable to imagine them on the floor of the ship in pools of their own blood. 

“Oh—don’t worry, your navigator and one other guy are on the Teron’s ship already keeping guard for us.” Ethos added, and Abel thought he felt Deimos shrug. 

“If we don't hurry they may take off without us…” Keeler quipped, but as the ship groaned and disintegrated further with every step they took, the ill humored joke did not seem that far from the probable truth. 

Finally, he heard another pair of voices calling urgently to his small group of survivors. “Keeler, permission to take off?” After the affirmative reply from the captain, Phobos continued, “Porthos, ready the engines.” 

‘Cain…Cain is still out there…’

His thoughts, though urgent and beseeching, reached no one else. 

“Lay Abel down here…get a cloth and hold it to his side. Yes like that, thank you Deimos. Porthos are the engines ready?” 

‘Cain needs me…’

“Yes Captain. Engines are functioning.” 

“Good—engage the thrusters I'll be right over. Ethos, raise the shields!” 

‘Cain…’

“Shields raised Captain. Take off in three…two…”

“No!” Eyes snapped open, an injured body sitting at attention with hands balled into fists, fingers digging into sweating palms and fists pounding frantically against a glass window. 

Pale digits flew to Abel’s perspiring forehead. “Shh…it’s alright. It's me, Keeler. We’re safe now, we’re taking you home.” 

His eyes stayed trained on the new ship’s window, now stained with blood and smeared beyond visibility with the scarlet fluid. 

“One.”

Thrusters engaged, fire and brimstone erupted from propulsion engines, and the ship full of rogue refugees drifted unhurriedly away from the smoldering death trap that had once been a ship of dreams. 

Abel watched portions of the luxury cruise liner strip away one by one, coiling and blackening as hidden flames licked at the interior and melted his memories. The elegant dining room, the servant’s quarters, and even the suspected secret simulator were likely in a similar state of ruin at that point. And yet, the navigator attentively observed possible pieces of these rooms turn into debris, hoping to catch a lucky glimpse of Cain making his escape. 

“He's going to make it.” The injured soldier said to no one in particular. 

Deimos cocked his head, coming to join the navigator at the window in silent solidarity and a shared but foolish faith. 

If they had looked away, if they had devoted their efforts to securing the escape of the stolen spacecraft; if they had done anything but stare wistfully at wasted prospects lost on a sinking ship, their pipe dreams may have had a chance to flourish under the protection of uncertainty. But, because two pairs of eyes were locked longingly on the collapsing cruise liner, Deimos and Abel were witnesses to every excruciating second of the explosion.

It started slowly, with small sections of the ship splintering off into space. Fierce circular flames gradually crept over the craft, and a foreboding hush fell over each survivor as the monstrous fire caught every pupil pair aboard. They watched, transfixed and numb as their former ship was engulfed in a blue blaze. The possibility of seeing Cain alive again was exterminated in that moment, and as if to add insult to injury, as Abel’s chapped lips parted to offer words of encouragement, a titanic explosion ripped through the cosmos, reducing the cruise ship to ash.

In Deimos’ eyes, the reflection of shrapnel flickering past planets like shooting stars was insufferable. Heavy lids slipped shut to shield him from any further damage. He buried his head beneath sweating palms, his heartbeat banging against a heaving chest. Abel’s mournful screams ripped through the cabin, and Deimos burned with rage as the navigator sobbed. “Заткнись!” He snapped, “shut up! Он умер за теб, he died for YOU.” As much as he wanted to end the conversation by revealing the regret that came with Abel’s rescue, he digressed. “We must be strong…so it won't be for nothing.” 

The words sat with the crew for a while, hanging in the air like an unfulfilled spirit chained to its haunt. Eventually, Keeler spoke. “We lost many brave soldiers today. We would be doing them all a disservice to give up now.” His bereaved eyes lingered on Abel until the other nodded slowly, dutifully, before whimpering and clutching his side. Within seconds, Abel was unconscious on the floor. “Deimos, plug the wound. Abel…Abel can you hear me?”

It was the last thing he heard before the world disappeared behind puffy eyelids. 

X X X

When he woke to the steady beeping of a medical machine, he possessed no more motivation than he had aboard the Colteron ship. Depressed, traumatized, and frankly unmotivated to continue on as Keeler commanded, Abel raked his eyes across the ceiling’s 244 tile inserts countless times. He let his head fall to one side and examined the vegetated state of the soldier to his left. The man had most likely been here for years—wherever this medical wing was, Abel imagined; perhaps he would suffer the same fate. Perhaps he wouldn't care. 

He hadn't known Cain for long, but the fighter had left a long-lasting impression, and had evoked feelings Abel never knew existed. That, in addition to watching his colleagues perish at the hands of a shared oppressor, encouraged him to disconnect, indifferent, from his destiny. The bandages itched, his stitched wound ached, and numerous needles invaded his veins. Yet he ignored it all, turning his dull eyes back to the ceiling only to realize that there were, in fact, 245 tiles up there. 

A small screen situated next to his bed flickered on, revealing a grainy image of Captain Keeler. “Abel…do you read me?”

In response, he allowed his head to roll towards the display. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed, relieved, and continued: “ I'm sure you are already aware but commanders Cook and Bering were detained and will soon be tried for treason…I just wanted to inform you that Encke and I have been asked to assume their roles for the time being. Anything you need, Abel, we will do our best to ensure you and the others receive it.”

Abel did not move.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be there in person…especially after last night’s events.” Keeler’s stunning features were pained for only an instant before he caught himself and pasted on a smile. “Anyways, I'm glad you're recovering nicely. Once you're fully healed I will commence your transfer from the medical ship back to the Slepnir. Get well Abel, and thank you for your service thus far.” The transmission cut, and Abel turned blankly back towards the ceiling. 

Machines beeped, transfusions dripped, and Abel drifted to sleep. That was—until the chaos ensued. 

“Get him hooked up, stat!” 

“We’re losing him doctor!” 

“Oxygen and a neuro-stabilizer should keep him until the surgery room is available. Hurry up!”

Gurney wheels screeched against the chrome floor, an entire team of medics speeding into the room as Abel’s quietude was interrupted. A pout weighed his lips down and he squeezed his eyelids tightly together in a useless attempt to block out the noise. 

“Doctor, the patient is too badly burned, I can't administer the stabilizer.” 

“Don't use the arm—everything above the neck is unharmed, remove the helmet and inject it straight into his skull, that should fix him.”

And so they continued, speaking louder and louder as the urgency of the situation grew with each passing second. Abel on the other hand, did not care about the situation, and simply wanted to rest. “Hey,” he groaned, peeling his eyes open to focus on the medics in the center of the unraveling disaster. “Could you guys please keep it d—“

“Dangerous heartbeat acceleration detected. Dangerous heartbeat acceleration detected.” A robotic voice repeated this information, getting lost in the commotion of the room. Just like the others in the wing, Abel’s ears were deaf to the notifications from his heart rate monitor. 

The new patient, swarmed by doctors, hooked up to multiple tubes and wires, had apparently been pulled from the wreckage of a stolen Colteron escape pod. 

His skin was badly burned. His eyes, encrusted in dried blood, were clamped shut. His lips were now obstructed by an oxygen mask. But despise it all, Abel was absolutely certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, that it was Cain. 

“Dangerous heartbeat acceleration detected,” the machine recited, finally drawing the attention of a masked physician. 

With eyes adhered to his flight partner’s disfigured form, Abel nearly leapt out of bed as the doctors secured Cain’s bed to the space to his right. “You're alive!” The moment his bare toe touched the floor, the physician tracking Abel’s heart monitor pulled a tranquilizer beam from his uniform and held it before the navigator.

“Stay put or I'll use it,” the muffled threat was registered clearly despite the pandemonium, and when Abel reluctantly leaned back into bed, the medic clarified: “we can't have you interrupting. It's a very serious case.” Abel nodded, and the masked man’s eyes softened sympathetically. “Get that heart rate down. He’ll be fine.” 

As Abel settled, turning from his doctor to the burned body beside him, one of Cain’s medics caught his eye before abruptly drawing the curtains closed. 

“Doctor Pathos, we require your services.”

After giving Abel’s shoulder a reassuring pat, the doctor disappeared behind Cain’s curtain. 

Hours passed with words like fruitless, failing, and fatal coming from the group of medics. Through it all, Abel waited patiently, praying to every deity he could think of in hopes that his partner would pull through. In the fourth hour after Cain had been admitted, a doctor finally uttered the word “stable.” 

One by one, they emerged from the curtain, the last medic—Pathos—finally emerging after briefly pushing back the thick cloth to reveal Cain’s sleeping form. He noted Abel stretching his neck to get a peek before the curtain resumed its position. Before leaving, he nodded knowingly at Abel. “He's going to pull through.” 

“Thank you…” he sighed, stopping before he left his bed and added shyly: “am I allowed to see him?”

Pathos chuckled softly. “Sorry about the tranquilizer beam…it’s just protocol. You're free to leave your bed…but be quick.” He entered the code for the door and exited after whispering, “I won't tell if you won't.” 

As soon as the door clicked closed, Abel stepped onto the floor, careful not to detach his IV or let his heart rate increase too much. According to the doctor, he only has a few moments, and he would never forgive himself if that short time was interrupted by a talking machine. 

His breath echoed loudly in his ears as he approached the starch white curtain; though he had caught glimpses of his fighter throughout the night, he wasn't sure how he would react to seeing his damaged body all at once. Digit by digit, frail fingers curled around the curtain and cautiously pushed it aside.”Oh…” a hand flew to his mouth, stopping the sound in fear of drawing attention. 

Cain lay still, barely breathing and covered in bandages from his shoulders to his feet. As the doctors had said, his face—though bruised and bleeding—had not suffered the same awful fate as the rest of his body. Abel wondered if the other would ever be able to walk again. He stepped forward, now gripping the metal rails of the hospital bed, and stared adoringly at long lashes matted by debris. If it were not for this man, he would not be standing there at all. Still he wished Cain could have escaped unharmed. He brought a hand up to smooth down sweat drenched hair, unsure if a slight touch PCs would cause the other to break. But before he could decide, the door slid open.

Startled, Abel hurried to his own bed and pushed the covers over his wrapped torso and shaking legs. 

“Let's get the patient into surgery. Take him to room 7.”

“Yes doctor.”

They filed in again with the exception of Doctor Pathos, crowding around the bed and detaching wires from Cain’s body one by one. When they detached the anesthesia, his eyelids tightened and he emitted an agonizing groan. Abel stiffened when those eyes fluttered open and settled on his own. For a few minutes, as the doctors continued prepping the machines, they simply stared at each other, communicating their simultaneous relief wordlessly. “You made it…” Cain finally murmured, his voice cracking. 

The navigator simply smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy. “YOU made it…” he reiterated. “See you soon?”

Cain coughed, nodding slowly as the doctors hurried to replace the oxygen mask. 

The tallest doctor signaled for his team to wheel Cain away to surgery. “You most certainly will not,” he scoffed, turning to Abel as the others retreated. He tapped a tranquilizer beam on the side of his uniform, narrowing his eyes at the navigator. “Do not leave your bed again.” 

“Doctor Hades…?” Another medic called, poking his head out from behind the door. 

“Ah, coming.” He answered, glaring once more at Abel before following the other physician out. “Make sure to place the patient in a different room after surgery…we don't want any distractions.”

The door closed again, and though Abel knew he wouldn't see Cain for a while he smiled, knowing they would be together again soon enough.

X X X

“We the jury, find the defendants Commander Cook and Commander Bering, guilty of treason as charged…”

Hushed whispers swarmed the cafeteria of the Slepnir, a team of new recruits in white gossiping to each other as their fighters sat stoic. All eyes were focused on the live feed of the Commanders’ trial that was projected onto the massive metal wall.

“Quiet, quiet…” Keeler begged, wishing to hear the last words of his former superiors. Encke, also at the front of the room, slammed a wide palm onto the cafeteria table in response, instantly shutting everyone up.

Abel, unsurprised by the verdict, exchanged a curious glance with Ethos before turning his eyes back to the broadcast. 

“Cook, Bering, you have just been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Your sentencing will take place separately one week from today. Any last words?”

Cook shook his head abruptly, adjusting his glasses before being led away in handcuffs. Bering, however, came to stand directly in front of the camera. He stared into the lens for what seemed like hours, then finally spoke. “You failed.”

Though hundreds of eyes had watched the disgraced commander utter those words before being dragged away, Abel couldn't help but think that Bering was speaking directly to him. He had never found out if he had been Navigator Z, and at that point he didn't care. The commanders were going to prison, and Bazin had simply vanished. Still, he sat with the fragrance of failure hanging around him like a storm cloud. 

When the prisoners were both led away, the broadcast switched off and Keeler rose. “It is unfortunate that the new recruits had to witness this in the first few months of training, but I wanted to reinforce our belief that transparency is the most effective way to prevent something like this from ever happening again. With that said, I would also like to note that mandatory flight training begins at 0500 hours tomorrow morning.” Groans erupted from the audience. “See you then…and if you have any questions or concerns at all…don’t be afraid to reach out.” 

The crowd dispersed, talking amongst themselves. Abel caught Deimos’ eye and waved, and the tiny fighter glanced behind him for a second before timidly waving back. 

It seemed to take forever to navigate the crowded halls of the Sleipnir, but eventually Abel was walking through the door of his cabin. He crossed the short distance to the bed where Cain lay quietly, bandages still covering the better half of his body. 

“Verdict?” Cain asked, propping himself up against the wall.

“Guilty as charged.” Abel sighed in triumphant contentment. “You owe me lunch.” 

“Damn…I thought they would get away with it. The fighter frowned, shifting over as his roommate sat by his side. “Lunch, huh?” He thought aloud, scanning the blond’s body in earnest. “How about I give you something better?” 

Laughing lightly, Abel planted a kiss on smirking lips. “How about we wait on that until your bottom half isn't covered in third degree burns?”

“Just cuz it’s burned doesn't mean it’s not working.”

Abel slapped a palm to his face, stifling a snicker and peering at the other quizzically through the gaps between his fingers. Finally he clasped his hands together and cast his eyes downward. “Cain I…I never got to fully thank you for what you did.”

The man in question cocked his head, intrigued. “Go on…”

“I mean. If it weren't for you, Deimos and I—“

As if on queue, the said fighter entered the room behind Ethos and Praxis, who was carrying a bottle of contraband.

“Sorry guys,” Ethos piped, making his way over to the two on the bed. “Hope we aren't interrupting anything.” 

Cain rolled his eyes, but allowed him to continue as soon as he laid eyes on the bottle. 

“It’s great having the both of you back on the Sleipnir after your hospitalization, so I—well, WE—wanted to officially celebrate your recovery.” 

“It was Ethos’ idea.” Praxis joined, unable to look Cain in the eye. Praxis’ navigator purposefully poked his ribcage until he tacked on: “I also wanted to thank you Cain. If you hadn't cheated me out of—I mean, won my ticket fair and square, I know I wouldn't have been able to do what you did. So thank you for allowing Ethos and the others to return alive.” With that rushed admission, he held out the alcohol for Cain to grab.

“Hm. I'll take it.” He said, popping the cap and taking the first drink. 

The others cheered. Ethos broke out his Pear Pad and turned on some music while Deimos swiftly stole a lampshade and placed it atop his head. 

Abel squeezed Cain’s free hand and took in the scene of celebration. The sight of his colleagues drinking, laughing, and truly having fun was well needed. If nothing else, the entire tragic experience had brought them closer together. He kissed his partner’s cheek, whispering a quick “thank you” before joining his friends on the makeshift dance floor. After all of the chaos, trauma, heartbreak, and eventual victory, Abel was filled with pride to be partying with the soldiers in the room. 

As the group prepared to take their fourth round of shots, the music stopped. “New Email” the Pear Pad announced. 

“Sorry guys…let me get this out of the way.” Ethos clicked around until his brows furrowed. “It's from the Captain.”

“What does it say?” Praxis inquired, coming to stand behind his partner before placing a hand on the navigator’s shoulder and peering at the screen. “Oh…” They both went silent, giving the email a second look before catching each other’s eyes.

“Give me that.” Cain demanded, reaching over from his place on the bed. After reading, rereading, and eventually tossing the pad into Abel’s lap, Cain took a long drink from the bottle.

All eyes were on Abel as he cleared his throat and read the email out loud: “To all the soldiers on the Sleipnir: we would like to express our deepest thanks as we implored you to join in a safe and enjoyable luxury cruise to Earth…paid for and secured entirely by your new commanding officers…” Confusion marred his features. “Keeler sent this?”

Ethos nodded.

After a couple seconds he spoke. “Well…this is Keeler we’re talking about. What do you guys think?” 

Cain was the first to respond, drunkenly slapping the tablet from his lover’s hand. “Fuck that!” 

Abel agreed, recovering the slightly chipped pad from the floor before handing it back to Ethos apologetically. “He is right though. Let's sit this one out.”

“Absolutely.” Deimos muttered from beneath his lampshade, clicking the music back on and swaying to the futuristic beat.

As they danced and drank, choosing to delight in life, another blond male in a pristine white uniform sat huddled in the dark. In the comfort of his new office, he accepted a video transmission from an unknown source on a far away planet.

“Declined, sir.” The person on the grainy screen uttered in defeat. “All four of them.” 

“Thank you Bazin.” Keeler hummed. He paused, pensive, as he listened to the loud music and possible debauchery taking place in Abel’s cabin down the hall. “We will speak again.”

“Affirmative.” The ex-navigator said before ending the transmission.

As he sat in the dark, his silver braid glistening in the glow of his blank screen, Keeler traced cold fingers over a photograph of Commander Cook before he made a damning promise. “I suppose,” he declared as he touched the framed photo, “we will have to think of another way for Abel to reach his full potential.” 

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lord. This took forever and a day to finish…forgive the weak ass ending but I just didn't want to kill Cain lol!! Please please please leave a comment. Feedback is the food for the fanfiction soul. Thank you all for staying tuned! Again, don't be afraid to leave a review (or two) so I know you all exist. Thanks again for making this a joy to write, even if it did take 84 years.
> 
> Translation Central:
> 
> Deimos to Cain: Я не оставлю тебя - I will not leave you 
> 
> Cain to Deimos: Не спорь со мной - Do not argue with me  
> Если вы можете жить, я счастливо отдаю свою жизнь - If you can live, I give my life happily (rough translation of, if you survive it's worth the sacrifice, because the Russians have no direct translation for sacrifice)
> 
> Deimos to Cain: Быть осторожен - Be careful
> 
> Deimos to Abel: Заткнись - Shut up  
> Он умер за теб - He died for you.


End file.
